by Clare Flynn
Now that I have written this and cannot send it to you I have decided to sew it inside a quilt I am making. I have always disliked sewing but concealing my letters to you will make me look more kindly upon it as a pastime and when I sleep beneath it I will feel closer to you, my beloved.
With fondest love,
Your own darling girl,
Eliza Hewlett
25
Tea with Helga Strauss
Helga was clumsy. She managed to pour almost as much tea into the saucers as the cups. She wasn’t at all apologetic and kept up a constant flow of chatter. Eliza was the only guest, but the other members of the Strauss family had gathered in the hallway to greet her when she arrived and look her over with ill-concealed curiosity.
Eliza had felt obliged to accept Helga’s invitation, but had approached the house with a sinking heart: she was conscious of her face and dreading being asked to remove her veil and having to explain her injuries.
Once they were alone in the drawing room, Helga’s monologue ranged from listing the names, ages and occupations of each member of her family to her favourite books and songs and descriptions of every concert she had attended in the past year. In between these autobiographical exposés, she subjected Eliza to a barrage of questions about her own tastes, but barely listened to her responses.
‘Do you like music, Miss Hewlett?’
‘I do, but I have had little education in it.’
‘I play the pianoforte and the violin. And I do love to sing. Do you sing?’ Then without waiting on Eliza’s reply, ‘My favourite song is “Take me Mother in thy Lap” She jumped up. ‘Shall we sing it now? I’ll play and you can turn the pages.’
Eliza said, ‘I don’t read music and I don’t know the song.’
Helga looked askance. ‘How frightful for you, Miss Hewlett, but never mind – I’ll tell you when to turn the page.’
She settled herself on the piano stool and began to sing and play. Eliza looked at the clock on the mantel and wondered when she would be able to leave without appearing rude.
After about half an hour, Helga closed the lid of the pianoforte and in a conspiratorial whisper said, ‘Is there something the matter with your face? You always wear a veil and Mamma said that Frau Bauer told her you had been disfigured in a terrible accident in New York City. Will you show me? I promise I have a very strong constitution. I won’t faint with shock, no matter how hideous you look.’
Eliza stiffened. Helga’s choice of words offered no comfort. Letting her see her face felt like an invasion of privacy. Eliza didn’t want this woman treating her like a curiosity, a member of a freak show. She didn’t want to be seen as ugly. She didn’t want be taken back to that day in New York. Was it vain to have such scruples? And she couldn’t spend the rest of her life hiding behind a veil.
‘Please.’ Helga laid a hand on Eliza’s arm.
Eliza lifted the veil over her face on to the top of her hat. ‘There you are. Take a look.’
Helga’s hands covered her mouth, her eyebrows shot up and her chin jutted forward. ‘Oh goodness gracious. That’s a mighty fine battering you’ve had, Miss Hewlett. No wonder you wear a veil. It must be very hard as I imagine you must once have been quite pretty. How horrible to be blighted by such an affliction. Did it happen in some kind of accident? I suppose now you will never be able to marry. Maybe some kind-hearted man will be willing. Looks are not everything. I should know, shouldn’t I, as my Peter is not handsome, but he does make up for it in other ways. Especially in his prospects. Prospects are so important, aren’t they, Miss Hewlett? A prosperous man is a handsome man, as my grandmama used to say. But it’s not the same for a woman, is it? Our future prosperity is in our faces. Oh dear. You poor, poor thing. How ever do you bear it?’
Eliza tried to choke down her anger. Being the object of this woman’s pity was too much. ‘I bear it well enough as I don’t think about it at all, unless or until someone draws attention to it, which I am happy to say, until this afternoon, nobody has.’ She rose from the chair. ‘Thank you for the tea, Miss Strauss. I wish you good day.’
She left the room as the voice of her hostess followed her. ‘Well, really! There’s no need to be so abrupt. I was, after all, being kind.’
Eliza went back to the doctor’s house, still seething with anger, but glad she would need no excuses for avoiding Helga Strauss’s company in future. Going straight to her room, she sat down in front of her dressing table and studied her face in the mirror. Maybe she’d got used to it, but it didn’t seem so bad to her. She traced the scar with a finger and turned her head sideways, peering at her reflection. Yes, one eye was recessed more deeply than the other and her left cheek lacked the definition around the cheekbone which the right one showed, but each side looked normal enough in profile and it was only head-on that the imbalance was evident. The main problem was the scar. The skin was still raised and livid and ran from her eye down to the side of her mouth, making her look as though she had just emerged from a cat fight.
On her afternoon off that week, Eliza made her way on foot to Mr Joseph Pozzoni’s hairdressing emporium next to the Lindell Hotel. Having explained her predicament to Mr Pozzoni, she was shown into a room at the rear of the salon.
‘I am so glad you have come to me, Miss Hewlett. Many women are over cautious about the use of cosmetic powders and creams. There is a feeling that perhaps it’s not appropriate for a woman of good background, but I can assure you all that is changing and I predict there will come a day when all respectable women will happily apply potions and creams to their faces and possibly even colour to their lips and cheeks. Now, let me look at you.’
He showed her to a chair and Eliza lifted her veil.
‘Yes, yes. My product can work wonders for you. I have only recently gone into production with my medicated complexion powder, but already it is outselling my wigs and perfumery products. All the druggists in the city are selling JAP powder and I’m expanding distribution to other cities later this year. Now, I am going to apply it for you and show what a difference it will make to your lovely face.’
Eliza sat back as he applied vanishing cream into her skin and then, using a powder puff and a small sable brush, worked the powder onto her face to conceal the raised red scar. When he was done he stepped back and appraised his work and, with a sigh of satisfaction, spun her chair around to face the mirror.
‘There, Miss Hewlett. What do you think? Quite a difference, eh?’
She gazed at her reflection and had to admit that he had worked wonders. As well as covering up the scar he’d used a tiny amount of coloured powder to create an impression of the lost contours of her cheekbones.
‘I can’t claim I work miracles, but I think it’s as near to one as you’ll ever get without surgery – and I wouldn’t be recommending that for a beautiful young woman such as yourself. Far too dangerous and painful.’
Eliza leaned closer to the mirror, searching in vain for the red and white line that had so badly disfigured her face.
‘Thank you, Mr Pozzoni. Thank you so very much.’
When she joined Doctor Feigenbaum at the table that evening he looked over his newspaper and remarked, ‘My dear you look particularly lovely this evening.’
As she took her new protective mask off with cold cream that night she marvelled at how a little cream and powder could make such a difference, not only in her appearance but also in her spirits.
26
Christmas In St Louis
Dr Feigenbaum left the house early, unconcerned by the heavy snow that had begun to fall during the night – indeed it seemed his sortie was inspired by it. Over breakfast Eliza had tried to dissuade him from venturing outside, but he paid no attention.
‘Just a light flurry, my dear. Nothing like the amount we used to get in Bavaria. I do love the snow. I am delighted that our first Christmas in St Louis will be a white one.’ He rubbed his hands together and smiled at her, his eyes lit up like an excited child’s. She
tried not to think about his use of the words our and first.
Two hours later he returned, riding on a brewery dray cart pulled by a pair of Clydesdale horses. Eliza looked out of the window as they approached and saw him sitting beside the driver, his scarf blowing behind him like a Medieval pennant, the bottoms of his trouser legs sodden and his nose as red as a cherry. His beard was flecked with snow, giving him the appearance of Santa Claus. On the flatbed of the cart behind them was the most enormous fir tree Eliza had ever seen. The doctor and the drayman grappled it off the cart with some difficulty and dragged it into the parlour, leaving a trail of broken branches and pine needles in their wake.
Frau Bauer had evidently been forewarned, as she appeared from the kitchen bearing trays of gingerbread men and brightly painted salt dough stars, each one with silk thread inserted, ready to hang on the tree.
‘Ah! You have baked the lebkuchen, Marta,’ said the doctor.
‘There’s stollen too and the glühwein you asked for. Everything’s ready,’ the housekeeper replied.
‘We shall have a proper German Christmas,’ he said, ‘especially for Eliza.’
The drayman left, rewarded with several pieces of stollen. As the three of them set about dressing the tree, Eliza thought about Jack. That Christmas they had spent together seemed a lifetime away. How happy she had been then, sharing gifts with Jack, walking together in the freezing cold then joining in the festivities at the Wenlocks. She remembered the look on his face when she was reading the part of Miranda – the tears that had brimmed in his eyes. What would he be doing now? Did he and Mary Ellen have a Christmas tree? Would they be standing in their own parlour, tying ribbons on it and lighting candles? Then it dawned on her that Mary Ellen must have had her baby by now. She paused, a stick of candy cane in her hand and gazed out of the window watching the snow falling, her eyes glazed with tears. She didn’t want to think about Jack holding that baby in his arms, cradling it, looking into its eyes, maybe even loving it. Who could fail to love an innocent baby? Even one conceived with a stranger in an alleyway and borne by Mary Ellen.
‘Are you all right, my dear?’ said Dr Feigenbaum. ‘You’re looking pale. Why don’t you sit down and rest for a few minutes? I’ve been working you too hard. You must be tired. Marta and I can finish this.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m quite well, Doctor, thank you.’
She didn’t want to sit down. She didn’t want time to think. Grabbing some candy canes from a box on the table, she set about hanging them on the tree, making herself work out the optimal spacing between each, varying the colours of the striped paper wrapping – anything to stop herself thinking about Jack and his new family back in England. And anything to stop herself thinking about the baby she longed to have herself one day and probably now never would. Her hand moved over the sunken contours of her face – no one would want her now. No one except the doctor and she could never contemplate marrying him.
When they were done, Dr Feigenbaum crossed to the sideboard and poured three glasses of the warm glühwein. The housekeeper looked shocked when he handed her a glass.
‘I couldn’t possibly, Herr Doctor. It wouldn’t be right.’
‘It’s Christmas, Marta. I think we can make an exception.’
He smiled at Eliza and raised his glass and she realised that he had only included Marta to legitimise the situation and prevent any awkwardness between them.
‘To Christmas!’ he said, adding, ‘And to friendship.’ He moved around the tree closer to Eliza. ‘And to the future, here in America. In Saint Louis.’
She looked at him in alarm. She didn’t want to drink a toast to remaining here. She wanted to sail back across the Atlantic. Back to Jack. Back to the life they were supposed to have together. Her eyes welled up, her throat closed and she struggled to swallow.
‘Drink!’ he said, fixing his eyes upon her, his tone pleading. ‘Drink and be happy!’
On Christmas Eve Alphonsus Feigenbaum, the doctor’s older brother, with his wife and two sulky children, descended on the house for the festive meal.
It was Eliza’s first meeting with Alphonsus. The thin-faced and frowning man was quite unlike his avuncular brother. There appeared to be little love lost between him and his wife and children. Frau Feigenbaum spoke no English and barely spoke at all, other than snapping occasional irritated instructions to her children in German. The children, a boy and a girl, adolescents of indeterminate ages, sat in bored silence as though the evening was a trial to be endured.
After dinner, the party retired to the parlour. Herr Feigenbaum took Eliza aside.
‘My brother is impressed with the work you have done on his book, Miss Hewlett. I understand you are even teaching yourself German?’ Before she could reply he continued. ‘How did you meet? My brother has always been vague about the circumstances which led him to offer you employment.’
‘We met on the voyage from Europe.’
He pursed his lips and leaned his head to one side as though doubting her. ‘On the voyage? I see. And who were you travelling with?’
‘I was alone, sir.’
He shook his head and frowned. ‘Alone? My brother is a very trusting man. He has led a quiet life and is not – how shall I say? – well-versed in the ways of the world. I fear his kind nature has made him vulnerable to those who might seek to profit from his generosity.’
Eliza gasped.
‘I think you understand what I am saying, Miss Hewlett? I just want you to know that I am firmly in – what is the expression? – my brother’s corner. I will be watching out for his interests. Do I make myself clear?’
‘I understand you perfectly, Herr Feigenbaum, and resent the implication. I am very mindful of Dr Feigenbaum’s kindness and would never take advantage of it. I am indebted to him but you can rest assured that as soon as I have discharged that debt I will be returning to England.’
He nodded. ‘Good. I hope I have not offended you. I believe it is always the best policy to spell these things out. I would not like you to be under the illusion that your employment here might lead to something else, something more permanent.’
Eliza’s face burned. She struggled to find the right words, feeling powerless, unable to retaliate. Did everyone see her that way? Did Marta Bauer? Helga Strauss? Was the whole town talking about the disfigured Englishwoman setting her cap at the German doctor?.
The following morning when Eliza came down to breakfast she found a small tissue-wrapped box waiting for her. The doctor was already seated and rose to greet her.
‘What’s this?’ she asked, embarrassed and thinking of Alphonsus Feigenbaum’s words the previous night.
‘Merry Christmas. Open it, my dear.’
‘There was no need for you to give me a gift and I’m afraid I have nothing for you, Doctor.’
‘Please.’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘Your presence here is all I want.’
She hesitated for a moment, then unwrapped the parcel and opened the box to find a small brooch inside a velvet pouch. Two interwoven strands, one of diamonds and the other of emeralds, set into a gold clasp. She put it back into the pouch and held it out to him.
‘I can’t accept this.’
‘I want you to have it, my dear.’
‘No. It’s not right. It’s too much. I can’t.’
He moved around the table towards her. ‘It cost me nothing, Eliza. It belonged to my mother.’
She shrank from him, horrified. ‘I can’t possibly accept your mother’s jewellery. It wouldn’t be right.’
‘Here. Let me pin it on for you.’ He took the brooch.
‘No!’ Her voice was sharp, panicked. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor. I’m grateful for your kindness and deeply honoured that you should think to give me something that belonged to your late mother, but it’s not appropriate. It would be wrong for me to wear it.’
His eyes reflected his hurt and he put the brooch down on the table in front of her and went back to his seat.
&nb
sp; They sat in silence for a few minutes. Eventually Eliza spoke.
‘It is the most beautiful brooch I have ever seen. I am honoured that you should think me worthy of it but you must understand that by accepting it, it would imply that our relationship was more than that of employer and employee and I have always made it clear that as soon as I am in a position to repay you what I owe, I intend to return to England.’
He continued to eat his breakfast without responding.
‘Please, Doctor. I would hate for there to be difficulty between us. Surely you can understand that were I to wear this it would be seen by others as – ’
‘Alphonsus has said something? I knew it.What did he say to you? I saw you talking. That’s what this is about.’
‘He only said what others may be thinking. That he believes I am a fortune hunter, out to lure you into marrying me. You must see that accepting such a gift would convince him that is the case. Can’t you see that?’
‘I can see only that my brother is misguided. He treats me as though I am still a boy, not a man nearing sixty. As I am sure you observed last night, he has not been fortunate in his choice of wife. Liesel is a difficult woman. She has turned him against marriage. I suppose he wishes to prevent me making his mistake. When he knows you better, Eliza, he will see how wrong he has been.’
‘Please, Dr Feigenbaum, do not speak again of marriage. I have told you I will never marry you.’
She moved towards the door, but the doctor stepped in front, blocking her path.
‘Let me speak. Please?’ He gestured towards the table and, reluctantly, she sat down again.
‘I will say this now and then never speak of it again. I love you, Eliza, and I want to marry you. I realise I can never presume to replace your fiancé in your affections but I want to care for you. I expect nothing from you in return except your companionship. I don’t give a damn for what people think, including my brother. I have never been happier in all my life than these past months since you have been living under my roof. If you do decide to return to England I will be a broken man, but I will never stand in your way. What you want matters more to me than anything in this world. I gave you that brooch but I give it without condition. I live in hope that one day you might feel more kindly towards me and want to wear it, but whether you do or not, I would like you to have it. I can see that what I am saying is distressing for you so I promise you this. I will not repeat my request for you to become my wife, but if some day you think you might be willing to do me that honour I want you to know that my offer will stand. I love you, Eliza, and will always love you, whether you marry me or not.’
